The Hiatus Comes to an End So I May Discuss Real World San Diego

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So little happened over this Holiday Season that I can barely begin to comprehend its uselessness. The only thing that occurred was the passage of time, bringing me closer to Los Angeles. Even with the lack of events, I still have plenty to talk about.

--Let's get right to my Totally Non-Judgmental Thoughts (TM) on the first episode of Real World San Diego. In such, I will assess the character of each individual participant, taking into account that all reality TV shows have Story Editors, and basically you can make anyone look any way you want to through editing. However, I will also note that eventually, creative editing notwithstanding, you have to be yourself over a five month period and the cameras will eventually capture that essence. Before I get into San Diego, though, I must make a note form last year...

RW Las Vegas Steven is quite possibly the biggest d*uch*bag on the planet. I mean seriously, this kid is a leaking bag of douche. Spilling. How can anyone be fooled to NOT think this guy is a waste of organs? I point directly to the debate that ensued after he and RW Las Vegas Brynn got into an altercation. She threw a fork at him and pushed him because he called her all manner of synonyms related to "Streetwalker". Though a fork is truly an violent instrument of terror that should only be handled by top-level operatives (your SarcasoMeters should be exploding at this point), let's ignore its involvement for the moment. She pushed him. She is maybe 100 lbs, and Big Steve is cracking in at about twice her height and a good 180. His big argument was that he wanted her out of the house because, were she to go off on him again, he "might be forced to hit her back" and "would be labeled a woman-beater for the rest of (his) life". And he kept saying that, like it was even a f*cking issue: "This is the rest of my life!"

Shut the f*ck up you ballsless d*ckbag. He just kept saying it, like his ridiculous argument had any merit whatsoever. Then, to cap it all off, in the elevator with RW Las Vegas Arissa, he says, "I think I made some really amazing points." RW Las Vegas Steven, you are the biggest flaming pile of trash in America, surpassing even Boomer Esiason and Hilary Duff's guitarist. Now what really bothers me about this whole fiasco is that both RW Las Vegas Brynn and RW Las Vegas Trishelle (don't get me started)both wanted to f*cking marry the kid. And there are girls out there who still would. Ladies, I don't begrudge you a roll in the hay if you think he's attractive, but is there any way you can NOT, again, NOT think he's the epitome of slime? Anyone? I will say this straight-out with no hint of sarcasm and will stand firm on it: Jessica Simpson is probably the hottest biped around, but after seeing what she's really like, I would only bang her senseless and three ways from Sunday. I would not date her and would certainly not marry her. No chance in hell. Do you see how grizzled Nick Lachey is getting (trust me buddy, I know the feeling)? She might be hot, but I have standards. I'm hoping females would exercise the same against RW Las Vegas Steven.

OK, glad I got that off my chest. On to the current cast...

1) RW San Diego Cameran--Alright, you are certainly hot, though you could stand to put a few pounds on that frame. Legs are a little sickly looking. Fantastic ass. But you really, really bother me. Why? First of all, the Civil War ended about 140 years ago. Get over it, and that goes for everyone in the "South". I don't even care if you're joking, which you likely aren't; bringing up the "I hate Northern Yankees" card is like me exclaiming "We want Jim Crow". Notice no one from the "North" perpetuates useless lines of dialogue that are so blatantly in the geriatric. Stop. Also, your "Aw, Shucks" attitude is fooling no one. No one. Not that you aren't probably stupid, but telling us that you think sex is "messy and awkward" while overtly pointing out to everyone in the house--in a shameless fit of off-topicness, I might mention--that you brought your vibrator with you is just obvious. I'm not buying the Good Southern Girl bit at all, and I doubt too many people are. Chill out.

2) RW San Diego Jamie--Anyone who knows me knows I have a burning, itching, painful case of Asian Female Lust. I can't speak much to her character, as she barely talked in the first episode, but Jamie is by far the hottest castmember. Whoo. Whoo. I'm getting flushed. Jamie, call me.

3) RW San Diego Brad--See above with RW Las Vegas Steven. OK, OK...he's not that bad. I will say I'm particularly impressed with the way he handled the Hot Tub Frankie situation. It was classy and appropriate. However, I think had things not been on camera, it would have been a different story. RW San Diego Robin's assessment of Brad is true--the Typical Frat Guy (TM). Again, ladies, if you think he's the greatest looking thing since sliced bread, believe me, I'm not going to try to debate you. But the limpd*ck tricks on the motorcycle? The fawning of his girlfriend, who isn't very attractive to begin with? The overt meatheadedness? Come on. He might say he's from Chicago, but this dude positively screams Jersey Guido D*uch*bag (TM). If he's fooling any of you, well, I'm going to need to run out and buy some more stock in Females Are Idiots and Bringing About the End of the Planet.

4) RW San Diego Randy--What's not to like about this kid? He's got the sweet hair, he's from Boston, he runs security at a nightclub and attends Art School, and by golly, at age 24, he's the house Grandpa. If the females have any intellect, he'll get more ass than Brad when it's all said and done.

5) RW San Diego Frankie--You absolutely have to love the fact that a Punk Rocker with Cystic Fibrosis can get sh*tfaced on the first night of filming, try to make out with a roommate knowing that her boyfriend will be seeing it later, fall on the way to the bedroom, and then puke over herself. Does it get any better? I ask you, does it get any better? The Cystic Fibrosis thing is like the really, really especially big candle on a really, really fantastically burned cake. Made my week. And the whole thing is, if not for the weird bangs and lipring, she'd be a damn cute kid. Smoke another Clove, Coughy Cougherson! Nothing beats watching someone tear their life down on Basic Cable.

6) RW San Diego Jacquese--Seems like a solid kid and, honestly, anyone that can make it out of Patterson (the same town that drove Rubin "Hurricane" Carter wrongfully into prison) and attend college is a damn fine human being in my book. One thing though--it appeared that he wasn't drinking the first night. Unless a recovering alcoholic, always be wary of someone who chooses not to drink. It's just a gut feeling of mine. RW San Diego Jacquese is my Dark Horse for Lunacy, running behind, of course, RW San Diego Frankie. Incidentally, not since RW Hawaii have two roommates been teetering so gently on the brink of insanity (RW Hawaii Matt and RW Hawaii Kaya, and if you don't seriously think RW Hawaii Matt was about to totally lose his sh*t, think again).

7) RW San Diego Robin--A good looking girl with a cool job, a good head on her shoulders, and two major fatal flaws. One is the Too Short Hair, often a horrible gamble if you're a female. It looks bad on her, as it does on 99% of the ladies who attempt it. Don't. You're a chick; look like one. Second, she's got some of the worst implants I've ever seen. Now, as those of you who know me know, I am staunchly against implants. Not for any moral reason. I just think they look awful most of the time. However, in this day and age, you can go out and get fantastic looking fakes. RW San Diego Robin apparently glazed over this fact on her way to the plastic surgeon, and instead appears to have asked her doctor to, "attach the most gargantuan, obvious cereal bowls to my chest, and spread them as far apart as possible so that we leave no doubt I'm a huge f*ckup." The good news is that, in the event of some kind of maritime disaster aboard their Touring Sailboat, RW San Diego Robin will float to the top fastest.

As per normal, your comments, be they yay or nay to mine, are encouraged.

--Some horrible news from this past weekend: watching one of those VH-1 "Where Are They Now" things, a segment came up on Kevin Kline. I always liked Kevin Kline. Damn fine actor. But I was irrevocably disheartened to find that he somehow tricked the luscious Phoebe Cates into marrying him. Did anyone know that? I think he's been secretly keeping her chained in his basement for years, forging the marriage certificate all whilst sustaining her on a strict diet of Wheat Thins and Soy Milk. Jesus, she still looks great, and honestly, what the F*CK is she doing with Kevin Kline? This is as bad if not worse than the Catherine Zeta-Jones/Michael Douglas union, which I still can't discuss with any amount of common sense.

Can someone make this go away, please? If the Olson Twins marry Philip Seymour Hoffman next week, I swear to f*cking God I'm moving to a shanty in Upper Canadia.

--I'm at a party last night, sober, meandering, and I hear some kids laughing behind me (and before you ask, yes, I'm the oldest person at this party by a solid three years). I turn to look at them, and they are mocking a kid on the other end of the beer pong table. He has been partnered with a blond girl for what seems like hours now, and they have begun to rub on each other quite a bit. The kid, obviously drunk and unaware of his element, is feverishly attempting the worst Waistband Tuck (TM) in the history of the world. At first I wasn't sure what was happening. Then one of the Laughing Kids yelled, "Yeah buddy, tuck that in!" Then I knew. Instant, frolicking laughter. I hadn't thought about the Waistband Tuck (TM) in months, because when you do it, you do it subconsciously. It's simply a force of nature. But not this kid. No. He was digging, fidgeting wildly in his trousers, oblivious to our delight. Apparently defeated, he actually TURNED TO FACE THE WALL and continued to work at it. Then, finally winning the battle, he turns around like nothing is wrong. Somehow the Hookup Gods are smiling widely on this kid, because his partner (and later random hookup) failed to notice the entire incident. Such an event can only be amusing to someone with a fifth grade humor level. Someone like me.

Oh, don't know what the Waistband Tuck is? If you haven't figured it out, wait patiently for the next GooseTown Entry. In said Entry, we will visit two of my favorite Unconquerable Postulates (TM) and three of my favorite InterMale Relational Topics (TM) from college. We will tackle:

1) The Summer of George
2) Middle School Dance Excitement Survival
3) The Waistband Tuck
4) Hijacked Bloussant
5) Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right....

It will be glorious.

I will end by wishing a safe and uneventful return to US soil for my good friend Matt Sanders, off for a one-year tour in Iraq. Godspeed my friend. Godspeed.